Detergent
by Remnants-Of-Fire
Summary: It's like Bleach... Only this is our take on the strange things that happen or could happen. Co-written, and will soon be on a separate account. Rated T cause someone bleeds to death.
1. Histugaya's Unfortunate End

**Fork in a toast: Howdy denzins of the internet! Fork in a TOASTER! Gosh, how long have we known each other and YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW MY NAME Remnants-Of-Fire?**

**Remnants-Of-Fire: Well exxcuussee me princess! I can't help it that your laptop is freakishly small! Oh, and hi weird bored people who chose to read this… *cough* ….ya…**

**Fork in a toastER: Well, now I feel awkward…..**

**Remnants-Of-Fire: Let's just start; the poor people are probably traumatized.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach…except for the bleach for my dirty clothes…but ya know…that doesn't really count…**

Captain Hitsugaya sat in his too big office chair in, shocker, his _office._ He was currently cursing the fact that his legs were so short, how in the soul society was he supposed to get any respect with his stubby little legs and the build of a stunted pre-teen. While he was at it, he decided to procrastinate some more and complain to himself mentally about his overly-spiky white hair. No matter what he did with it, it resembled an elderly hedgehog dipped in whitewash.

He sighed, kicked his feet back and forth in the air a few times, and then looked down at his reports again. So much paperwork…he could literally feel whatever _small_ amount of patience he had evaporate just by looking at the dreaded things. He reached down to shuffle one of the obnoxiously large stacks out of the way.

Then it happened.

He stared for a moment, disbelief scrawled all over his _small_ features, a wave of horror descending on him as he tried to convince himself that it COULD NOT be happening.

He blinked. He tried pinching himself with his other hand.

But it didn't change anything.

Captain Hitsugaya of Squad Ten had gotten a paper cut.

"CURSE YOU WRITERS! CURSE YOU TO HECK!"

His finger started spurting blood, no wait. The word spurting didn't really describe the logic defying spectacle that was his paper cut finger. It had a pressure to the geyser of blood blasting out of the cut that would have made fire fighters green with envy. Physics disagreed with the amount of blood that the _small_ container that was Hitsugaya could even hold. Seriously, somewhere somehow, a scientist choked and had to be given the Heimlich by one of his scientist buddies. When they asked what had happened, all he could do was stare dramatically off into the distance, and shake his head. That's how much blood Hitsugaya was geysering.

-10 minutes later-

Matsumoto strolled in, making a new definition of the word scantily clad. She paused, her brain taking a few moments to catch up with her current situation. There was something different about the walls….something, like, not wall-ish….then it clicked. As much as anything could click for poor Matsumoto, you see, after all those years of painting her nails, the fumes had finally gotten to her.

The walls were dark-pink. No wait, not dark-dark-pink, it was another word…ehhh…liiikkkeee…red? Yay! RED! She clapped her hands in glee. Then tapped a finger on her chin as she strode forward to ask her Captain why he would choose such an ick color for his office. If he was going to choose a color, why couldn't it be something groovy-ish, like, like, orange with koalas on it or something?

Matsumoto liked koalas.

She took a moment to pause, and picture her marsupial friends as she walked forward….. and promptly tripped over something lying on the floor. By the time her beleaguered brain realized she was falling, and that she should brace herself, she had been lying on the floor for a good half a minute. She blinked, like a computer rebooting, and noticed what it was she had tripped over.

It was a Hobbit!

Wait…no…it was just a dead guy. She sighed as she flipped over the dead guy, and was like; totally shocked to find out it was the Captain. By shocked though, she meant that she wasn't too surprised. She hazily remembered through the fog of nail-polish remover, that the Captain had always been going on about how the paperwork would be the death of him. She sat down and checked her nails for the fifteenth time that day to make sure her pretty-in-pink nail polish hadn't chipped.

**And that kids, is why Ichigo and his Scooby Doo gang never seem to do any homework. It's the paper cuts I tell ya!**

**Review, don't review, make a ham sandwich….but make sure to avoid those nasty paper cuts!**

**(By the way, in case you haven't guessed it, this was meant to NOT be taken seriously. At all. I mean come on, Koala's? Pfft.)**


	2. Life Story on Death

**Remnants-Of-Fire: Okay so…I'm not used to writing much else than Angst and Hurt/Comfort. But I'm a totally comedy nut and I really wanted to write one with my pal. **

**Fork in a toaster: I agree with the nutty part! **

**Remnants-Of-Fire: Though…technically…That would mean that I'm allergic to myself…COOL!**

**Disclaimer: We do not own Bleach, if we did well, let's just say Orihime wouldn't be there… At all…EVER. She would have died a horrible, terrible, tormenting death with spikes and needles and… Buuuut then again, we don't own it.**

Renji was laying in his own pool of blood. The world was spinning as he moved his head in the slightest attempt to meet the gaze of his attacker. Ichigo Kurosaki. Although said strawberry-headed attacker had proceeded to injure and slice the week tattoo-faced boy into a bloody pulp, Renji felt this_ desire_, this _burning passion_, to tell his murderer his _entire_ sappy childhood.

From the beginning.

"Many, _many_ years ago, I met Rukia. I was just a little kid, wandering the streets of the- " the story dragged on and on. Moving from how utterly useless Renji had rendered to be even as a child, to how much angst he shamelessly let loose into his story of the past. Ichigo found himself dozing off on more than one occasion. And hey, he had time for it, more than _two episodes_' worth of time.

'_How is he _not_ dead yet? I mean, I _stabbed_ him. Continuously! He's practically floating in his own lake of blood! All he needs is a foam pool noodle and floaty and then he's good to go!' _Ichigo rather childishly fumed, albeit a very gory and morbid child, who was now reaching for his over-sized kitchen knife *ahem* zanpakuto to prepare for the finishing blow, or blast, depending on how much more irritated the prattling soul reaper would make him.

Then he fell asleep. Again.

"And _then_, the multiple flowers floated by on the Spaaaarkling, seeeerene lake, the beauty only slightly comparing to that of Rukia's. She caught a fish, and smiled in ease at me with caaarelessness. That's when I realized, with the sunset shining through her cobalt hair, just how _beautiful_ Rukia looked in all her perfection. She was gloooorious."

Ichigo groaned. This sickening statement woke him from his sleeping state alright. He rubbed his eyes and balled his fist, wishing and praying that through the action he could silence Renji's blabbering lips and end the seemingly endless childhood stories that put old people's tales to direct shame.

Drifting from in between spite-filled consciousness and horror-induced dreams, Ichigo vaguely remembered that they had two spectators that basically had played the role of peppy cheerleaders as he fought with the other Soul Reaper. Apparently, through out the entire duration of the excruciating tale of the _way long ago_ past, Mr. firework obsessed pig man, and bland yet generic flower boy, had giant alligator tears of sympathy for the bleeding yet _still _doddling whiner, pooling in their eyes. Just whose team were they on anyways?

Oh right. Technically, Hana _was _on Renji's side, but in order to help the slowly progressing plot, he moved over to help Ichigo. Logic is obviously thought a lot about.

The strawberry head stared at them in feigned disbelief. Honestly though, he already knew they were useless, but I mean they hadn't said _anything_ for _hours!_ Not even moved!

Ichigo wondered if the thick red substance dripping out of Renji was really blood, cause there sure as heck was a lot of it, and he sure as heck wasn't dead. _Still_.

"That's when I discovered that Rukia had been accepted into the Soul training academy, as well as me! Much to my distastes though, her broth-" That was it. Ichigo snapped. He. Couldn't. Take. Anymore.

"Just shut up! You're supposed to be _dead! Why. Aren't. You. Dead?_" He released the mighty kitchen knife and stabbed Renji full on in the chest. Just around where the heart was, though it was hard to see with gallons more of blood spraying out. Ichigo vaguely questioned if the human body even contained that much blood. Eh. Who cares anyway? At least the prattling had stopped.

**Fork in a toaster may have been nice enough to ASK for you to review…. But I'm not that nice. SO REVIEW! (please)**


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